The following prompt was written when I first started the text adventure group, before s&s tokens were live. The whole story so far was written by @ecoinstant and I [he is placed at 50% bene]. I thought it would be a good story to relaunch with more users. I changed some of the story so the prompt isn't a straight up copy/paste. COMMENT BELOW TO PARTICIPATE. Vote for entries that you like. At any point you can reply to a comment and start a new thread/storyline. No word count limit or requirement. I will curate all comments within reason.
P.S obviously anyone should add artwork if they want to!
**P.P.S This story is in the FIRST and SECOND person. YOU read the newspaper or I read the newspaper.
You set down your coffee mug and leather briefcase on the concrete in front of a large metal door of a brick building. It was a sunny day, but very cold and windy. You fumble for the key ring in your breast pocket and pull it out. Your shaky hands fit a large key into the metal door and open it.
The inside of the building is dark and dusty. Each step you take echoes as your foot hits the floor. You grab a metal handrail and with a grunt; start walking up a large, metal staircase. The walk up the staircase always makes you out of breath and hurts your knees. "What kind of building doesn't have an elevator!" You say to yourself.
You reach a grey, metal door on the top floor with the symbol of an eye printed above a peephole. You fumble for your keys one more time and unlock the door. The door creaks open slowly. You look around the room and sigh. "The old ball and chain," you whisper. You hang your coat on an antique wood coat hanger and drop your briefcase by your desk.
You put a cigarette up to your mouth and flick the lighter. You take a big drag and peep through the window curtains of the six story, brick high-rise office building. Down on the sidewalk, some muscle-headed weirdo was yelling at his crackhead girlfriend. You close the window shut in disgust. "How could there be so much crime in this city, but no money," You whisper to yourself.
You take another drag off your cigarette and start pacing around the room. "This isn't exactly the glamourous carrier I imagined." You gesture to an imaginary person with your cigarette hand and create a smoke trail in the dimly lit room. "If I can't pay rent this month, I am literally closing down this detective service. Some dipshit with better ideas than me will take over this office." You sit down on the special leather chair you bought for the room and put your rattlesnake skin shoes onto the marble table with all your paperwork.
All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door.
You get up from your chair, the smoke swirling with the negative vacuum from your rapid accent. You rush over to the door and reach for the handle, before pausing. I think twice and peer through the peephole, but all I can see is the color red. I squint through when
Bang bang bang
The knock comes again, this time harder.
You take a puff of your cigarette and reach again for the handle with courage and this time open the door.
The door opens slowly. A police officer shoves a piece of paper at your face. "We have a warrant" says the officer. You feel dizzy, trying to remember all the crimes you must have committed in the past month. But did any of them warrant this type of search and seizure? Five police officers poured into the dimly lit room with blue plastic gloves on their hands. They began to open drawers and rifle though your stuff.
"Only look for a gun, leave everything else" said the police officer who opened the door. He starts to rifle through your coat and opens your leather briefcase. "Can I ask you a question," You say quietly to the police. "Shut the fuck up," he says. You stand there for what feels like hours. You start to get a wave of nausea and your face goes numb. "There's no weapons here chief," says one of the officers.
I immediately call my lawyer, Dr. Levine, and explain what is happening in a not so happy voice.
"The police are here, they apparently have a warrant to search my resident for some gun, what should I do?"
Dr. Lavine, as calm as ever replied - 'say nothing until I get there, I am coming right away!'
The police chief finally turned in your direction. "Mr. Lopez?" he asked. "Are you willing to come downtown and answer a few questions?"
You smile and say nothing.
The police chief whispers in your ear "The only reason I don't arrest you without cause is because you are an ex cop. If you killed him, I'm taking you down."
The cops all walk out one by one. As the police chief leaves, he picks up your open briefcase and a million pieces of paper fly out onto the floor.
"Oops," he says and walks out.
The door opens slowly. A beautiful older woman with an expensive coat and red prescription sunglasses that also looks incredibly expensive. She had long brown hair and hoop earrings. She smells like peach perfume.
"My name is Miss Ellen," she said holding out her hand.
This chick doesn't really want me to kiss her hand does she?
You kiss her hand, but she must have seen the disgusted look on your face because she remarked "I just washed my hands you know!"
After you took a shit probably you think to yourself.
"How did you get in here anyways?" You ask. "I had a copy of your key made," she announced casually. I'm with the FBI and we have a warrant to search the premises.
She waves her hands in front of her nose. "Are you aware it's illegal to smoke in this building?"
"Am I under arrest?" You say with an angry tone. Because if not I'd like to go home and make a sandwich. "I'm not really from the FBI silly, I have a case for you." She opens up her purse. "I want you to take a picture of someone for me. One picture." She slammed down a stack of 20 dollar bills. "I will give you a thousand dollars".
"That's a good one Miss Ellen", You say laughing, "That black pearl necklace says you can pay me at least ... 5 thousand dollars for one picture. And I'm guessing the person is famous ... or with my luck a dangerous criminal."
Miss Ellen grabbed a cigarette off your table without asking and lit it. "You're right," she said. "I'm a reporter." She lifted up her arms and pointed to her jacket. "I'm posing as a rich aristocrat so I don't get followed. Pretty good huh?"
"My real name is Linsey Monera. I'm a reporter for The Weekly Dribble. I want you to take a picture of the Mayor cheating on his wife. You won't be part of the story ... "
"I want that in writing," You blurt out.
"Mayor Dinky goes to Hotel 7 every Thursday to cheat on his wife. I want you to take a picture of them together with the hotel logo showing. I will give you 2 grand per good picture. If they are all blurry you don't get paid."
"My camera is autofocus!" you snap.
Mayor Ravensblatt had been in the news lately for his pro-family stance on certain hot political issues. These pictures were surely to catch him in hot water not only with his wife, but perhaps with his constituency, and take away his sheen of virtuosity.
But politics isn't an interest of mine, for 2000 smacks I'd probably take pictures of him in his underwear. What difference does it make to me what political party is feeling superior currently?
But something was fishy about the request, and the journalist standing in front of me dressed as a high class gold digger. The cigarette, momentarily forgotten, continues to burn down in my hand.
"Linsey was it? If the mayor really wanted to cheat on his wife, why would he do it in a Hotel 7, and not his second home outside of the city? Seems like he's asking to get his picture taken."
"Alright I admit it," She said rolling her beautiful blue eyes. "The story is WAY bigger than an adultery case. But I can't tell you until AFTER the story breaks. And you are going to email me the pictures and then delete them. We can't risk being seen together again.
"I'll give you 20 grand for the assignment," she said smiling. God knows I'll be a millionaire after this. As for me I'll be taking a vacation ... permanently."